Terra G - Hoarse lyrics

Malice planning pacifist. Rapping in the fashion of nannies soothing a sa**y fit Try to challenge the alchemist. Attempts prove futile like trying to nuke a masochist Savvy kid, his swagger is canny Try to catch him you can't like black kids running laps at a track meat Sick rhyming crack artist his flow shakes Parkinson's Parsing lips are burning tracks, it's the rap arsonist Spit bars dark like the heart of the f**ing archer b**h Articulate flow shows novices where the arctic is Show me a dude who could spit with the same drool as this But I'm living proof that a miracle exists I spit minerals so its pitiful to see how critics are ridiculing this for criminal lyrics The spirit of rap is inside this Try to hear it but you can't. Better fear it. Got the youth in hysterics Tear a critic's larynx with his tooth, grin and bear it Foes become the culprit of a potent cobra bite. Tracks scolding like molten lava and coals alike Hoards his rhymes. Then leaves corps in a wordless plight so combating him would end in a worthless fight I'm storming the fortress. Grabbing pitch forks and torches Porking this rap game it's corpus lies porous on the floor It's over. Life gave me lemons. I'm throwing f**ing oranges Ambidextrous cortices forming words correlating to punches like George Forman Air tight line forged tighter than a Gordian knot. According to pop I'm doper than crack and so before you say a word to me Doc, back down if you're morally shot Keep it cracking like the titans are clashing The harsh hash a**a**in has a masochist spasming Pa**es has-beens and spams piss like his bladder is maddening Grab a pad of maxi if you're f*gs can't handle me Well versed and verses are wit versatile Unmerciful lips. His spits surgical Firm fist fits and clinched the lynched cervical. Serving curses and worsen it So Merlin thinks that sh**s purposeful. You can't trace with superlatives Get a taste of too purgative. Haters shins hurting like hit hurdles so Doubters and b**h circles are targets making that list first to go. Hit em bro The archetype of a Martian Slight margin of error is tight Marching in a marsh of margarine. And the air is thin They all pale in comparison. Embarra**ing actually Perpetrate impersonators perforated with kerosine till the barrel's seen Terror screams when words attack like feral fiends